


Take Time with a Wounded Hand

by CaffeinatedPokedex



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Afterlife, Alpha Eridan, Alpha Timeline, Dead People, Depression, Doomed Timelines, Dream Bubbles, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Pining Eridan, Slow Romance, angelic wrath
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-12 02:09:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3339734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffeinatedPokedex/pseuds/CaffeinatedPokedex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Cause it likes to heal...</p><p>Nepeta finds Eridan in the dream bubbles, and he is not faring very well, what with being sawed in half. She seems ready to help him, if he would stop being a jerk for half a second. </p><p>Rated with Graphic Violence, but there's not much violence really, just graphic wounds that need mending and are described with a fair amount of detail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What They Said was Real

**Author's Note:**

> Depictions of injuries and dealing with them is a little graphic, not to bad, but just be warned.

**== > Eridan: wwake up**

You are beginning your day, night, whatever it is right now, the same as you always do. Glaring up at the ceiling of wherever you happen to be in, eyes watering with agony.

You always make yourself wait a little bit before locating where your legs are, because if you don’t brace yourself, you’ll get sick and you don’t want to choke on your vomit or ruin your scarf. You can’t exactly get up and lean over. That’s one of the many horrible side effects of being half the man you used to be.

You’re alone, just as you have been every single hour of this hell. You kill two and a half people and apparently karma decides you should be alone for the rest of eternity. Good fucking riddance. You were a lonely, whiny bitch when you were alive, and apparently you still are now that you’re dead. The angels were right.

You ponder how hard it would be to crawl out of this cave and just abandon your lower half. You evidently don’t need it in the afterlife, and it’s not exactly doing you any good. Shooting out a punch into the air, you use your arm’s momentum to carry you onto your stomach.

Bad idea! Bad idea! You knock the wind out of yourself as you put too much pressure on your abdomen gills. You start trembling at the overwhelming pain and your unease at this whole situation. Using one elbow after the other, you pull yourself forward despite your excruciating pain. A violet trail is left in your wake.

This was a huge mistake, you realize as your fins flatten with fear. Angels are near the entrance that you managed to locate. You wish you could backtrack as quickly as you can make an ass of yourself. It’s too late, they’ve seen you and they are approaching.

Their touch is like acid, it burns without being hot, and they all reach in to grab at you as they surround your sorry excuse for a body. _Why are you so pathetic? Why can’t you take care of yourself? This is why no one wants to talk to you. You are just so pathetic. No one could ever take you seriously. Especially as a lover. Look how pitiful you are. It hurts just to look at your sorry excuse of a life. Wait, you’re dead. At least you aren’t a waste of a life anymore._

They know all that has ever happened to you; they are intimate with your memories and love to use them as playthings. They look harmless, if a little awkward, just pale yellow forms with long arms and long fingers that have an extra joint. They don’t look all that harmful, but the words they speak, the way they twist your memories and faint rebuttal, it almost hurts worse than the poisonous touch.

_You killed her, but you thought you loved her. Your love was fake, just as fake as all the friends you think you have. Thought you had. You’re dead now, because of their fake friendship. They all have wanted you dead for sweeps because of how pathetic you are._

“It’s not true,” you whimper, but honestly, who are you kidding? Of course they’re right. You try to go blank, ignore them and their words and just go dead to the world of the dead.

Their claws rake through your spilled out guts, and poke and prod at your exposed gills. They don’t seem malicious, just sorry that they have to torment someone as worthless as you. Bored, and they keep spewing their hateful words as if it’s the only thing that brings a small amount of joy.

You cover your ears the best you can and squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to shut them out. Even if just a little. A hideous shriek tears through your best efforts though, and you snap your head to look at the scene of an angel being gutted in front of your very eyes. And then another.

Steel blue claws rip a third one apart at the throat and abdomen, and the last angel falls to claws raking her chest into ribbons. One panting troll stands the victor, sprayed in the iridescent yellow-green of their blood. Testing the blood by smell first, she deftly licks her long claws clean.

Squatting beside you, she comments plaintively,” Aww, Ampurra, you haven’t figured it out yet.”

You’re working too hard to hide your tears to really listen to what she has to say. Great, she killed the angels for you, but now she’ll make fun of you for sure. You keep your arms folded in front of you so you can cradle your head on them. “Ampurra…” She calls as she pushes at your arm for you to respond.

Setting aside your glasses so you can better rub at your eyes, you grit out,” What?” Even you can hear the sound of crying bubbling behind your bitter question.

“What were those things?”

“... Angels,” you admit,” An’ they were kickin’ the livin’- well dead, crap out a’ me.” You’re still trembling, and it makes you feel anxious like she’ll start pointing it out soon.

“Why didn’t you efur tell us how pawful they were?” She makes sure to enunciate so you can hear all her puns, and you idly wonder how much she thinks about the puns she uses. It always took you more time than you liked to admit to come up with your fish puns, and you used them almost exclusively for making Feferi happy.

“I tr-tried… Just nobody much listened to me in the end…” Way to go. Make yourself sound even more pitiful than you already seem. “What are you doin’ here anyways?” You bite out, hoping to sound more annoyed than pained. You’re not so sure you succeeded. Thinking you might have been able to wipe away the majority of the lavender streaks from your puffy eyes, you add a glare in her direction for a good measure. She’s a bit blurry without your glasses, but her soft edges are well defined by her colorful wardrobe.

Pouting with that ridiculously cute face of hers, she answers,” Wow, way to say thanks fur rescuing you. If you must know, I was a little lonely and was hoping I’d find a furriend.” Her gaze softens as she asks,” Are you okay? I mean beside the…” She gestures at your missing half, wincing as she fails to come up with a polite way to phrase it.

“Oh, just purrfect,” you spit out mockingly, pouting yourself now. It’s not fair. You got sawed in half, but she’s just dandy in the afterlife. Sure, she’s a little dead, but at least she can walk.

She giggles, and for a split second you think she’s laughing at you until you remember you made a cat pun.

“Though, if you wouldn’t mind shovin’ my large intestines back in, I’d appreciate it.” She obliges you, being surprisingly at ease with seeing a vivisected body. Her ability to look at the morbid and not be phased at all surpasses even yours, and even mildly impresses you.

“Watch the claws cat troll,” You warn, even though she’s doing a fine job. It just seems odd for another troll to be this helpful while you’re down. She pouts momentarily, but closes her eyes and relaxes her expression.

“Do you want help turning around?” She asks. You wonder why she’s being so nice. Suspicion needles through your mind that she has ulterior motives.

“No, I don’t need a glubin’ _land dweller’s_  help to turn myself over,” you deny snidely. In hindsight, you could’ve probably found a politer way of phrasing that while still saving face.

“Well, fine,” She sighs while rolling her eyes, standing up. She turns on her heel and prowls out the cave entrance, lithe and dangerous, and obviously a little pissed off at how you’ve been treating her.

“W-wait, where are you goin’?”

“Home,” She spats,” Away from rude sea dwellers like you.”

You realize this cave that’ve you’ve been appearing in often is probably right next to her cave. You had managed to stay away from the angels for the most part, despite their seeming drawn to you. You usually avoided talking to yourself, or at least tried. She probably had no reason to check out this cave she knew like the back of her paw until she heard signs of life- er, death.

She mentioned being lonely. You know for a fact that there should be other dead trolls besides you two, unless they all came back to life too. You can’t fathom why you’d appear in her neck of the woods if the others didn’t, but you guess it doesn’t really matter now. You fuck everything up.

Pushing yourself over as you were indeed capable of doing, your insides slosh uncomfortably. Again, the breath is knocked out of you as your gills take the brunt of the fall. You don’t bother putting your glasses back on as the world becomes more blurry and violet tinged. Seriously, you’re such an idiot. You spend the rest of the time wallowing in self pity until you go unconscious.


	2. Livin' Under House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all is lost after he was a total prick, he just has a longer way to go now.

You wake back up in a cave again, but you’re not sure if it’s the same one. At the very least, it has the same color rocks and texture. You’ve been reunited with your legs you note, spotting them across the cavern.

You debate waiting this out as you had been doing before yesternight. That had been boring, but at least you hadn’t been found by angels much, and you hadn’t had to talk to a silly land dweller. Imagining spending another night like this is out of the question though. Cavegirl knew something you did not. Something that caused her pity. You were going to find out what you hadn’t figured out yet if it was the last thing you did.

The whole process of flipping yourself over and crawling forwards with your elbows is arduous and painful as expected. It wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t have to keep stopping to try keep your insides just that. Your stomach does a weird flip as you approach what you think is the entrance. Fear that the angels will spring back from your memories clutches the damned digestion organ until you’re sure it’s up by your gills.

They’re not present right now though. You can pass the egress into the unknown world. You never wasted time to visit Nepeta before, and you never frequented the area because rural areas offered less food for Spidermom or for Fef’s even more terrifying lusus. You dully realize the closest thing you’ve ever had to either a kismesitude or matespritship both used you to help keep their lusi at bay- Dammit you didn’t mean to slip that potentially fishy pun in there.

Looking around your surroundings is nothing all that special. It looks like any other slightly forested area sprinkled with land structures on the cusp of mountainhood but falling just short. It’s not difficult to pick out the only cave entrance glowing with a habitant. Luckily it’s not that far away; you judge it maybe six hours of crawling if you don’t stop for breaks. With the lean, strong physique of a seadweller this should be no problem. You’re built for swimming entire days away- even if you kind of squandered this ability by living on land. This is just swimming on land, you whisper to yourself.

The sandy ground slowly morphs into wet dirt as you have to pass through a small woods to get to your destination. This is actually more comfortable, but you grimace as you think about your poor scarf. The sand would have been easier to get out. Anxious energy builds in you as you realize you are completely vulnerable. Nepeta hunted great beasts and small prey alike as far as you heard, and their is no way you could fend off vicious fauna in your current state.

Quickly, how much noise you’re making comes to your attention. Every little twig you’d been snapping, the rustle of the grass under you as you pull yourself across this wretched terrain. Even your habit of sighing when a past failure of yours pops into your head. For the last hour you have been a trailing, obnoxious beacon of helplessness.

You feel watched.

You feel hunted.

You didn’t know your blood pusher could pump that fast, but it’s making you dizzy.

Your vision is going black and you stop moving.

Something drops down in front of you, and you don’t know if you should be relieved that this is all just going to end or be frustrated because that’s going to mean that you’ll just have to do this again tomorrow.

Purple spreading across your face in anger at your predicament is the tame end of your reaction as you flail your arms at the predator. You didn’t just waste all this effort to be rekilled by some memory fauna of Nepeta’s.

Your ringed fist makes contact with grey skin briefly, but the other was predicting this because they just go with it and flip up into the air with no damage taken. Landing on their feet, they quickly place two very troll like hands over your own.

“AC thinks that if you would have defended yourself like this, you would have been able to take out the angels.”

She is kneeling in front of you, a warm smile residing on her face. Her upperlip is slightly cleft like a cat’s and it curls thin a little when she smiles like a proper meowbeast. She has a few freckles that frame her nose cutely and one is captured inside a dimple. They almost give her the appearance of having whiskers. You didn’t know all that before because you have never bothered to give this lowblood the time of night to exchange more than a couple of insults and half-hearted quadrant attempts. You wouldn’t know that her eyes were beginning to fleck green before her untimely death, but you are becoming vaguely aware that she is staring at you with curiosity.

Your gaze is left on your hands, shaking with the leftover effects of adrenaline. “W-wait… why... are you…” Your breathy words are cruelly played with by an over emphasized accent courtesy of your fight or flight response.

“AC saw the silly fishtroll was leaving the cave. She had to purrtect him furom all the predators prowling out here.”

You’re trying to process this, but you’re caught between “ _You let me crawl for an hour in agonizing pain?!”_ and “ _You wasted an hour of your time to watch over me…?”_ In the end, you stay silent. You have a habit of picking the worse option, even if you don’t know which one that is.

You think she has the polite grace to ignore your shocked tears as she picks you up. Her hands that naturally curl into paws gingerly keep what’s left of you in one piece. She’s carrying you towards her cave, and the rocking of her walking is soothing you from your panicked state.

She silently stalks through the night adeptly like you never could even if you had your legs back. Her hunting has always been that of finesse, and your’s always pure strength and power displays.

Obviously, it doesn’t take nearly as long as it would’ve taken you for her to reach her home. You don’t take in much, being so exhausted from your journey. She sets you down on a soft pile in the corner. “Mr. fishtroll better stay here while AC goes and retrieves his legs.”

“Mr. fishtroll has no glubbin’ choice and will grudgin’ly do as he is damn well told,” You reply, your head still spinning. You will stay, you promise, if only because you’d rather be here than alone in bumble fuck troll egypt.

You earn a sweet laugh from her as she prowls away and tracks your scent (and copious amounts of blood) to your lower half. Relaxing into the ridiculously soft pile, you think this actually pretty nice.

You wake up a while later to Nepeta dragging in some great beast twice her size. It takes you a moment to remember she’d brought you to her lair and set you down on a pile. She hasn’t noticed you woke up yet, so you close your eyes and take a moment to relax. Feeling around, your fingers run through long thick fur, some coarse, but most of it is soft like Feferi’s hair after you combed it for hours just for her to jump back into the ocean. The sentimental feeling crashes when her corpse flutters behind your eyelids... _Your trembling hand clutching the killing instrument..._

You sigh as you try to push that image out of your mind and open your eyes to your current reality. Nepeta’s pile is one consisting of the many pelts she’s accumulated over the sweeps. She’s sitting in the center of her cave, back turned to you, carefully peeling off the hide of what you assume is your next meal. Appetizing…

“Oh! You’re awake!” She exclaims, turning around. She’s got blood up to her elbows, and it’s candy red as any proper animal’s should be. You notice that same blood adorns the walls of this cave’s walls along with maybe soot? Ash? You don’t know. You don’t care enough right now. You have pressing questions.

“Why did I wake up here instead a’ some random place?”

“Because I made you purromise! Aradia taught me a lot when I first got here. Like, your reality reflects what you think it should. So if you think you should be curled up on my pile, than you’ll wake up there!” Pausing to finish her job with the pelt, she continues,” And, if you think you should heal back up, you do.”

“Ara? You’ve seen her since she went kaboom?”

“Yep, she’s god tier like Vriska now.”

“She never visited me.” You don’t bother voicing that you probably weren’t worth her time. That should just really go without saying. You don’t seem to be worth anyone’s time anymore- except for Nepeta’s…

“How did you die?” Nepeta abruptly asks, curiously looking at your exposed insides.

Flushing in surprise, embarrassment, and a tinge of guilt, you avert your gaze to the right and find your other half has been set next to you. “I was cut in half. What did you think?”

Olive creeps up in her cheeks as she says,” Well I know that, but I meant the story. My timeline’s Eridan was stabbed by Vriska. Or at least, that’s what Aradia told me! I died way befur that.”

“Oh? And how did you die?”

The tables turn quickly in your competition of who can look sadder and more embarrassed. “I died beclaws I tried to avenge my meowrail…” Her flash of sadness quickly melts into righteous fury- or should you say furry, no that sounds silly. You should stay away from cat puns- and her lip pulls up as you swear she starts actually growling. “That pawful clown killed my Equius!”

“Gam?” You remember the olive blood splattered across his juggling pin, and the three claw marks running across his face. He had wore the spoils of battle, you recall, sporting those broken glasses of Equius’ and the hat that belonged- belongs to the troll sitting in front of you. “Right. I guess he killed you in my session too.”

It might be cliche, but you find her anger incredibly beautiful. It’s red hot like the blood coagulating on her arms. Relaxing down to an angry pout before sighing, she shrugs and says,” I’m not likely tabby able to exact my revenge soon, so I guess there’s no point dwelling on it.

Looking back to what she had been doing before you woke up, she asks happily,” Dinner?”

“Aren’t you gonna cook it first?” You ask, your lips curling in disgust. She really is a land dwelling savage.

Raising an eyebrow, she responds,” But if you eat it meow, it’s still warm. Anyways, I don’t have a cooking block.”

“Yes, you do.”

“What?” She’s looking at you like you’re a moron, which if your plan doesn’t work- you are.

“You said that Ara said our reality is what we believe it is, right? You have a new cooking block. Congrats.”

Toweling her arms sort of clean(ish), she gets up and pads around her cave out of your view. You can only crank your neck so far to watch her go.

“Wow, you’re right! Is this your cooking block?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” You reply sardonically. “The interior is just so distinctive, I can see it all the way on the other side a’ your hive.”

She returns with an expression that reads “done with your shit”. Before you can protest, she hefts you up and clamps her arms around your chest for ease of carrying. You tilt your head forward a little so your horns don’t catch her in the breasts; you feel that would be a bad start to your newly expanded enemyship- or friendship. Whatever.

As she turns the corner, you see the rock floor slowly morph to wooden planks. Gazing around, the familiar atmosphere of a dreary shipwreck grabs your sentimental blood pusher. It really is like yours back in your hive. You suppose that makes sense, seeing as it’s the only cooking block you knew intimately, and you had to imagine _something_ as you chose to full heartedly believe one existed.

After a hearty silence, she comments,” I still don’t know how to cook.”

“That is no problem. Prop me up by the stove an’ be my sous chef, you’ll have the best meal a’ your life.” It takes a bit of work, but she is able to set you on the counter beside the stove and find a proper pan to start heating. She sighs and rolls her eyes the whole time, complaining that this is a lot of work to enjoy a piece of meat. She says that you don’t need to do all of this, because it is meat and already delicious. Seriously. How could you improve it?

Eventually you get her to collect all the herbs and other needed items by directing her through your cooking block. You ask her to retrieve the tenderloin and begin your magic. Secretly, you’re a wonderful cook. With no problem getting the the best food available to trolls, and a lot of alone time to cook away, you excelled at the art. It didn’t hurt that you had exquisite tastes, but a seahorse for a dad. Seahorses can’t cook well.

This isn’t your best work, it’s just a quick sauteéing with a rub that you could throw together in a few minutes, but you grin as you see Nepeta literally drooling at the smell.

She’s leaning against the counter on the other side of the stove, inhaling the smell of the meat cooking.

“You have seriously never had a meal cooked for you, have you?”

“No, Equius accepted my lack of cooking as green blooded quirkiness.”

Well that’s one quirky way to say low blooded savage, but whatever. You’re not going to dare tread on Nep’s and Eq’s moirallegiance. That is a surefire way to get yourself kicked out of this cave. Though, you should think of a polite way to suggest she use the newly installed fridge so the rest of the meat stays good.

When you announce they’re done, she tries to grab it right off the pan and you slap her hand away. “Plates an’ forks for a civilized meal,” you insist. You get a stinkeye for your efforts, but whatever, she complies and finds the requested items once you direct her where they are. She brings you and the meals out to her living area again, since apparently she doesn’t have a lonely, 26 foot table that’s always empty to sit at in her non-existent dining room.

She watches you at first as you use your fork and steak knife in tandem to begin eating, quickly copying you so she can finally eat the heavenly meal you cooked. “This has gato be the best meal I’ve ever ate, Ampurra. Thanks,” She says with her mouth full of food.

You overlook the questionable etiquette to reply,” You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.” You’re a little surprised to find you mean it. You’re actually really happy that she likes your cooking. That she’s enjoying herself, and smiling while eating. Even if she is eating like an uncultured oinkbeast.

Suddenly, you become aware she is looking at you with that same expression that killed the cat, and you self consciously ask,” What?”

“It’s the first time I’ve ever seen you smile,” She offers lightly.

“Oh,” You stupidly respond. Like, what do you say to that? You watch her cheeks turn the color of her jacket, and look down at her food quickly. You too avert your eyes to your meal in shared embarrassment.

You both eat the rest of the meal in silence, but you can’t stop glancing up to stare at Nepeta. You’re so flustered by your confusing feelings you forget to ask about what she thinks you should do about your legs.

For the rest of the entire night.

You are such a heartsick moron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should become apparent now that Stone Temple Pilot's Creep is being referenced to a ridiculous amount, but it was far from the only song I listened to on repeat for upwards of 30 minutes. This fic actually has a playlist i listened to a lot while writing it.
> 
> People are Strange - The Doors  
> Stairway to Heaven - Led Zeppelin  
> Imagine - John Lennon  
> Dust in the Wind - Kansas  
> Every Breath You Take - The Police  
> Kryptonite - 3 Doors Down  
> Gimme Shelter 1969 - The Rolling Stones  
> Baba O'Riley - The Who  
> I Want You to Want Me - Cheap Trick  
> I'm Yours - Jason Marz  
> Happy Together - Turtles  
> Creep - Stone Temple Pilots  
> Comfortably Numb - Pink Floyd  
> Scarborough Fair - Simon and Garfunkel  
> In My Life - The Beatles  
> Mad World -Tears for Fears (and) Gary Jules
> 
> I love both versions of that last song, so they both get represented, yay! Welcome to my eclectic taste in music.


	3. Guess I'm Livin'

She’s staring intently at your midsection, and you are trying to keep yourself from being sick. You had asked what she’d done to heal up from her death injuries, and found out that she tried to splint and wrap them up the best she could so she’d think they’d get better. To which she’d gotten the great idea you guys should do the same for you.

Recognizing how cynical and pessimistic you are, you had pointed out that simple bandages wouldn’t probably do it for your mind. Now you are facing the outcome of that grim prediction. She’s going to try and suture you up. You’re on her pile of pelts that you’ve stained purple beyond all repair about to be sewn together like a dress.

You’re no grub about needles and sutures; you used to stitch yourself up all the time from FLARPing since Vriska insisted it made you stronger to do it yourself. Of course that lucky bitch could steal webbing from her lusus while the beast slept- but you didn’t want to seem weak, and only pleaded help from Feferi when your wounds were really bad. This qualified as really bad, you reasoned, but it still felt wrong to ask for help.

Nepeta’s brow knits in sympathetic compassion as she insists,” It’s going tabby okay, Ampurra. I’m a really good- hee hee- _tail_ or. I make all my own clothes.” You’ve seen her pelts she’s made into cloaks and skirts and such. It makes you feel marginally better, but not by a lot.

“I’m not a piece of clothin’. I bleed an’ feel,” You protest. You watch her thread her curved needle with double thread.

“I know. You’ve dyed my whole hive purple.”

The frankness surprises you a little. She’s usually so cute and careful around others’ felines- Oh glub… She’s got you thinking in cat puns. Other’s feelings is what you meant...

Despite the curtness, her eyes gleam with concern and warm feelings. Like she’s here for you, and she really wants this to work so you get better. It’s flustering you, so you avert your eyes and complain,” It just had to be by my gills. A’ all the places to be cut through they gotta be the most sensitive. I mean, I could-” You shut up real fast when a soft kiss is placed on your forehead.

Earfins fluttering, you stare like an antlerbeast in the headlights.

“Just relax,” she whispers before pulling away. “I’ll be as careful as I can.”

Gulping and nodding, you sigh and say,” Alright, I guess you might as well go for it.”

She carefully lines your two halves together, trying not to put too much pressure on your already sore gills. The constant, dull pain you’ve experienced since you woke up in this bubble explodes into red hot pain in your stomach as she curls through the first stitch.

You clench your teeth together to keep from screaming. Shutting your eyes tight, you think back to all the times your sewed yourself back up and how you got through it by yourself. A muted whine leaves you, but you pretend you’re in the dark, alone, surrounded by sunken grandeur. You’re just sewing up your arm from that fight with the lusus that was a freaking whale and the purple blood that tried to protect it. Feferi had thanked you for your help and you had to drag the dead troll to Vriska so she’d agree to come out and play. Of course, between hanging out with your moirail and budding kismesis, you had to take care of that nasty gash through your bicep.

You start hyperventilating some odd stitches in as the needle reaches the beginning of your gills- your arm doesn’t have gills, this memory won’t work. Opening your eyes and looking to Nepeta for strength, you focus on your breathing and try to calm it down. Heavy breathing could make the sutures uneven or something, maybe, you don’t want to fuck this up.

Looking down at the needlework, you’re momentarily distracted by the quick, sure movements. She wasn’t lying when she said she was good. You look like you could have come out of a sewing machine they’re so precise. You’re oozing a little, but you think it’s lessening by your sutures.

You can’t stand to look anymore as she gets to the middle of your gill. She has to shuffle around to get into a position to see well enough to tie off a knot. You know a lot about knots. Square knots, alpine butterfly loop, running bowline, trucker’s hitch… You can’t distract yourself long enough.

Then, magically the pain recedes.

Inspecting curiously, you see only half of your stomach has been stitched up. She started in the middle and worked out toward your abdominal gills, noticeably stopping only two inches into the sensitive tissue. “What, you thinkin’ I only need a forth a’ my body sewn up,” You complain.

“I thought it might reduce the tugging on your skin if I did it in sections. I don’t know. I’ve never done this before,” she protests, pouting at your criticism. Good glubbing horrorterrors, your heart melts whenever she looks at you like that. With her lower lip hanging out and her eyelashes a batting… She is the poster troll for adorable pouting.

“Yeah, I guess. I tried to avoid bein’ cut in half in the past. I don’t know either.”

She starts in the other direction, finishing your front half quickly. You’re shaking by this point. It’s just too much, and your gills are on fire. She lies down beside you and says softly,” Let’s take a break, ‘kay Ampurra?” She wipes away a tear you had thought you managed to keep in.

You nod weakly, wanting to pull her closer. You don’t want to mess this up though. You don’t want to even try. You’ve been rejected enough times, and by her for that matter, and you don’t want to mess up what you’ve got.

Tentatively, she raises her paw to your face, and you think you might just about swoon- ignoring the fact that you’re already lying down. Brushing over your fin with a small amount of wonder, she moves on to your hair and starts combing through it as if to groom you. “When I was little, Equius used to let me braid his hair,” She states a little sadly. “And he braided mine before I cut it real short.”

“I used to braid Fef’s all the time to try an’ keep it from tanglin’.” Thinking on her words, you ask,” How long was your hair?” You’re trying to imagine her with long straight hair all the way to her knees like your old moirail’s, but it’s not working.

“Half way down my back, but it’s super curly, so it reached the base of my tail when wet.” You forgot that she always referred to her tail as real, and horns as ears. She has only ever talked about them very few times while talking with you, and how often you’ve ever talked to her is already in the very few category.

“Doesn’t look curly,” You muse as you examine the little tufts jutting out from her hat. “What kind a’ product do you use?”

“No product, Equius made me this hat to keep it under clawtrol. He didn’t like that I cut my hair, and I didn’t really either. I was crying about it for a good three days before he came and gave me this hat. He didn’t braid my hair after that beclaws he said it was too short.”

You want to ask why she cut it in the first place if she didn’t want short hair, but you’re trying to think of a good way to ask. You want to come off as concerned and amiable, not nosy. Unfortunately, you’re nosy and so you end up plainly asking,” Why’d you cut it then?”

“Well, it’s no secret I’ve had a crush on Karkitty for a really long time. I was really young and being silly. I got angry that he was ignoring me, so I tried to copy Terezi’s hair beclaws he seemed to like her more… but I forgot that my hair would be so much shorter when it dried.”

You can understand the the horrific shock that can crush you when your hair no longer reflects you. A lot of trolls think it’s funny to be so affected by something like hair, especially the ones that don’t even to bother to brush their unruly, sorry excuses for hair. You, however, know that it’s a traumatic blow to most trolls to lose that piece of their identity and that they just haven’t had the misfortune yet.

“I can braid your hair,” You offer, placing a hand over hers as it freezes in place.

“Fur real? But it’s so short.”

Squeezing her hand in assurance, you boast,” I know a lot a’ different braids, many work on short hair if you’re talented like me.”

“Sure, when you’re feline up to it. That’d be mice.”

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and nod to yourself in affirmation of what you’re trying to say. “I think- I think I’m gonna be okay now.” Opening your eyes ajar, you see her serious expression as she prepares to flip you over.

You bite your lip as she places a supportive paw on both your halves and counts down from three. Bracing yourself, you take off your glasses just in time as you get a mouthful of fur. You’re sure glad you remembered, because nothing feels worse than the bridge clamping down into your nose and eyes.

Nothing but goddaMMIT! The first stitch pinches your coherent thoughts to a close. This time goes faster, maybe because she’s more practiced or because you blackout in the middle. You’re not actually sure whether you’ve maintained consciousness the whole way through.

“Ready to flip back ofur? I’m done.”

You give back a incoherent and muffled reply, and you don’t think she was waiting for a reply when you’re flipped regardless.

Wearily, you mumble,” Don’t suppose you have a tub a seawater lyin’ around?” You feel really warm, and kind of dizzy or nauseous. You’re not with it enough to distinguish.

“Hm? Seawater? No, but I do have an ablution trap.”

You roll your eyes at her lowblood slang. “Sea dwellers heal faster in seawater. We’re made for it. It’s also easier for us breathin’-wise.” Aside from your adventures with Fef, you really only ever spent a lot of time underwater when trying to heal from a particularly nasty wound- which you think this counts as.

Sitting back on her haunches, she says,” AC pawnders this news, and thinks of the Grand Crypt Sea! It’s just an hour’s run round trip. AC could fetch water if it would help Ampurra.”

Grimacing, you ask,” An hour? Ugh, that’s a lot a runnin’. I don’t wanna inconvenience you that much just for some water.”

“Would it help?” She asks solemnly, obviously expecting you not to beat around the shrubbery.

“Well, I mean, yeah.”

Smiling, she states,” Then AC will get some seawater for her patient.” Jumping to her feet, she announces,” I’ll be back in an hour.”

You acknowledge her as you start falling into inky blackness. Hour. Good. You need... to rest anyways…

It seems just as your eyes had finally closed, she’s back holding large jugs of water in either hand, panting heavily. Good thing those jugs are shaped like hard shelled fruit or you might start blushing. Her milky white eyes are squinted in athletic readiness, and her mouth is pulled into a barred snarl to raggedly displace the air she’s done with. Face smoothing a little, she stalks passed you to her bathroom with the jugs.

Shortly after, she returns and says,” Beat my record. It only took me 48 minutes… Need more though. Probably about three more trips.”

Before you can protest that this is way too much effort to expend on your pathetic well being, she’s gone. You’re too warm anyways… You slip back into unconsciousness easily.

When you wake up again, she’s careening through the entrance of her cave, collapsing against the wall across from you and smearing olive down it as she crumples to the floor out of breath. She hisses as one of the jugs falls over, swiftly righting it to avoid losing as much as possible. As it is, water spills across the floor, rolling forward across the dense rock.

Reaching out your fingers as the water reaches you and sampling it, you comment,” Nice salinity.” Nepeta doesn’t acknowledge the comment and your concern grows. You figured she just took a nasty fall and needed to sit for a bit, but she seems to be working very hard on breathing. “Nep… You doin’ okay?”

Snapping her head in your direction, you’re a little spooked by the feral expression carved into her features. Carefully resting the jugs in the corner so they don’t spill more, she crawls your way on three limbs, her left arm noticeably being held against her chest.

As she gets closer in her lurching gait, you can see two giant fangs are pierced into her shoulder, a trail of where they raked her skin starting through her olive symbol. Thwumping down beside you, she relaxes. “A gigaturan took chase, and I couldn’t quite avoid his bite without the use of my claws.”

Propping yourself up, which pulls at the stitches a bit, you remove your scarf and set it between the two of you. Stitching two halves back together you can’t do, but taking care of a stab wound you can. She eyes you with curiosity and you ask,” You trust me? Not tyin’ to take a peek or nothin’ but I gotta take off your jacket an’ part a your shirt to see the wound.”

With her permission to proceed, you gently pry the fangs out of the skin, fully prepared for the blood that follows. Easing her arm out of the loose jacket sleeve, you use the drab fabric to put pressure on the wound as you use a sharp fang to cut the shirt from the open cuts it’s beginning to congeal in. It sure is a mighty task not to let your eyes wander, but you stay focused just on the bloody parts of her skin, especially avoiding anything that could be categorized as ‘ogling’. You are a gentleman.

Or you like to think you are, anyways.

Taking your long, beloved scarf and soaking up some of the spilled water, you have her sit up a little so you can start wrapping. “It’s gonna hurt a lot,” you warn her. “Salt water has been used as an antiseptic for long time though.” She doesn’t seem phased as you start wrapping it around her chest and shoulder. You finish the wrap by tucking the end of the scarf in.

Lying back down, thoroughly exhausted from that small bout of action, you hear her drop back down and sigh. She scoots up to your side and curls around a little bit, resting her head and shoulders on your chest. You freeze, you weren’t expecting this outcome.

“Thanks,” she purrs.

You remain as perfectly still as you can so she doesn’t get uncomfortable and move away. “Sorry that gettin’ stupid water for me got you hurt.”

“Oh, this is nothing,” she assures you. “I get little scrapes all the time. I just have to sleep off the poison now.” The calm of that statement does not match how you react to that.

_“Poison?!”_

“Not much poison… I’ve been bit a lot worse befur, and I ended up just fi...ne…”  She’s out cold now, and really warm against you. She’s practically your own personal furnace with her body temperature resting at least five degrees above your own.

The warmth coupled with the comfort of her snuggling up against you, and the soft embrace of the furs beneath you… Not to mention your pre existing exhaustion… You quickly follow her in sleep.

~~

~~

A scream wakes you up, and you realize it’s yours. You’re trembling- Your breathing is heavy and you feel trapped as you try to sit up but can’t. Really strong hands are pressing down on your shoulders in a way that keeps you from moving much.

“Ampurra! Ampurra, listen to meow! You’re going to rip all your stitches out if you keep this up. It’s just a horrorterror.”

“I killed her, I killed her!” You cry out through sobs. You echo yourself over and over through racking breaths.

“Whatever you’re mewling about can wait til night, just calm down. Purrlease.”

As your intense fear and shame simmers, you see Nepeta is wincing in pain. She’s pressing down really heavily- even managing to keep you from moving all that much, and you’re a highblood. She must be using a lot of strength and be an abnormally strong lowblood at that.

You guiltily realize she’s putting a lot of pressure on her wounded arm to try and keep you from freaking the fuck out and pulling all of your stitches. You’re still hyperventilating, but you try to relax, and you can see that she is relieved when she can crumple back on you.

“I killed her, Nep,” you mumble miserably. “With science. I ruined everythin’ for everyone- b-but I killed her.”

“Shoosh…” She replies tiredly. “Efurything will be fine. Just sleep.”

You decline to say anything more and let her fall back into slumber. Everytime you try to shut your eyes, a fuschia blooded princess haunts your thoughts. It feels like hours, though probably only being minutes in reality, before you can calm down enough to sleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! It means a lot to me to hear from you guys :)


	4. I'm a Mouse

“You awake, Ampurra?”

“Am now,” You mumble back. She’s still laying across you. Your bloodpusher flutters momentarily before sinking with shame. You want to apologize for last day, but you don’t know how.

“You’re like a permanently chilled pillow,” She coos quietly. She’s still obviously very low energy, and you hope she’s recovering from the poison alright despite all the energy she exerted in your wake of stupidity.

“A course I am to you. I’m only a couple a degrees warmer than this cave.”

“So was Equius,” She says,” He always said his blood was as cold as the ocean.”

“Pff, hardly. A land dweller doesn’t come close. Do you even know how cold it gets 20,000 leagues under the sea?”

“No?” You feel her frown pull at your shirt. A fang is probably caught.

Shit. Were you too pretentious? You’re such an asshole. Why do bother opening your mouth? Nothing good ever comes from it.

“I mean, I spend a lot a time under the sea, so I know this kind a stuff,” you try to save face,” and it gets to almost freezin’, except it’s so salty it can’t freeze or even slush.”

“Why?” She props her chin on folded arms, gently repositioning herself on you while watching out for your stitches.

“What do you mean ‘why’?” That’s elementary knowledge.

“Well, I mean, I nefur learned much about the ocean. My education was also cut a little short beclaws of all the dangerous fauna around here. I couldn’t really keep up.” Her cheeks flush olive and she buries her face in her arms.

Oh. You’re a massive asshole. You totally forgot how poor the education system is for lowbloods. While you’re status allowed you personalized education programs, lowbloods often had mass produced crap that only was only available at certain times of the week. She would have to simply do without that particular knowledge if she missed the session.

Then, if you couldn’t pass the tests, you wouldn’t be allowed into the next section and have to wait for rotation to take it again, meanwhile missing out on the other broadcasts. It was really a mess unless you could work out a way to afford better schooling, which of course was nigh impossible for the average lowblood.

“Er, sorry. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it… Salt mixin’ with water lowers its freezin’ point. The ocean lies around four degrees, an’ I’m typically like five degrees higher than that…”

She perks with interest at this and asks with surprise,“ Nine? Don’t you get cold?”

“Not really. I just adjust to the temperature a’ the water so it’s just a little colder than me.” You can’t explain what it’s like. You typically cap at a little over 20 degrees, but otherwise, you just fluctuate with your environment. Alternia was pretty cold, especially the sea and its coast, so you typically stuck around nine degrees. Sea dwelling trolls’ bodies didn’t create all that much heat on their own, only enough to increase muscle speed a bit.

“No kitten? That’s pretty cool.” She sits up, and you’re sad that your bodies are no longer touching, the air quickly cooling your body back down to normal. She carefully pushes your scarf down to look at her shoulder while still maintaining modesty. The puncture wounds are swollen and violently green, but they don’t look to be getting infected that much.

Biting her lower lip tentatively, she says,” I ruined your scarf. Sorry…” Your scarf is stained with copious amounts of her blood- as is your shirt probably-, mixing an ugly grey-brown in some places, but otherwise kind of tealish.

Normally you would be really angry at the destruction of your clothing, even if you were the one to give it to her, but you find you really don’t mind. Shrugging, then wincing because it pulls at your gills slightly, you  comment,” Just a scarf.” It’s not just a scarf. It’s the scarf you made yourself to replace Fef’s.

Thinking back on that brings a solemn frown to your face. Back when you barely were walking on two feet and Feferi and you were super tight moirails, she had gifted you a fuchsia and violet scarf. You loved it dearly; it was delicately detailed with lace and fine needlework, but you couldn’t bare to wear it anymore when your feelings started shifting red. It made you feel guilty, wearing a moirail gift when you wanted nothing more than to kiss her. So you made a scarf cold as the ocean’s depths to wear instead to reflect your sadness. Maybe you’re a bit melodramatic, but it made sense at the time.

She matches your frown, and kneads at your arm. “You sure, Ampurra?”

“Sure. It’s a chapter a my life that’s over anyways.”

She’s not convinced, but she changes the subject. “Why don’t we get you into that ablution trap I slaved over?”

You grimace and try wriggling your toes. No response. “Eh, I can’t really walk, and with your shoulder, how are we goin’ to get me there?” You feel useless and pathetic. She was able hold you, a freaking violet blood, down without a complaint with a ruined shoulder, but you can’t even move your toes a bit despite the in-bubble construct that should allow you to heal if you could just get over your own mental block.

“It’s not going taby too hard. I just have to support you on my right. We can do it.” She sounds so sure, that you believe maybe it will work after all. Nodding in agreement before you can convince yourself otherwise again, you prepare to be lifted. Crossing her arms and reaching to you, you close the distance and feel pressure in your shoulders as you body is lifted up.

Shit, that hurts a whole lot as you use your abdominals to keep your lower half following in line. By some strange magic though, slung over her right shoulder you’re able to stay standing. It’s as if gravity is granting the mal-used muscle and bone of the now foreign legs to keep you upright out of some sadistic irony.

You can’t feel your lower half, but with Nepeta taking most your weight, the two of you manage to make way for the seawater she procured for you. “You’re really heavy,” she complains.

“Yeah, I know. Our bones are denser an’ our muscles too. We offset it with a thin layer a’ blubber though.” Sea dwellers have to be built incredibly well insulated to survive the depths you travel and because it’s so buoyant, the fatty layer covering your organs helps you float even with bones that are literally stronger than steel and muscle mass that would otherwise sink a troll.

“You mean fat?” She verifies, and you realize she probably has never really interacted with deep sea mammals much other than trolls who typically turn their noses at such questions.

“You try stayin’ warm and not not squishified at those kind a’ depths,” you respond defensively. Okay, so the high pressure wouldn’t actually squish her, but it would do nasty chemistry stuff to her blood.

“Sorry,” she quickly mollifies, but you weren’t really all mad so whatever. “Just pawndering."

You finally reach the glorious reserve of seawater, and she leans you over and you kind of gracelessly falling in. The moment of salty water hitting you stitches: less than awesome. The comforting feeling of being embraced by water: best thing. The whole transition between your lungs giving up to your gills: always a little iffy.

Gills are just better than lungs in sea dwellers. Being able to breathe on land is a great development and all, but evolution sure skimped on the size of your lungs. It’s harder for you to take in enough oxygen if you don’t breathe as deeply as you can, but you suppose with gills and other sea faring organs in tow, you only have so much space left.

The iffy part comes in the transition between breathing with which set of organs. The lungs close off to hold in air (yay floating) which makes it momentarily feel like you’re drowning until your abdominal gills start flaring and contracting to force water through, and if you were fully submerged, you’d swallow water to diffuse through your neck gills. Most trolls get used to it, you guess you’re just special…

The water only comes up to just barely covering your gills, and Nepeta exclaims,” Oh! I have two more jugs of water. Just a second meow.” She runs off to retrieve them and you sit back and relax. After the initial sting, your body feels much better in the mineral rich water. You want to check out this sea sometime; the water feels virtually pollution free from the lack of tingling in your filaments.

when she returns with the containers of water and pours them in, the water reaches high enough that you can sink in far enough your earfins are barely visible. She’s sitting back against the wall and watching you curiously and it occurs to you that you should thank her after all the time and effort- not to mention physical trauma- she suffered to bring this together for you.

Lifting your chin above water and coaxing your lungs into land mode so you can speak something she would recognise as trollian, you awkwardly say,” Thanks for everythin’, Nep. This really does help.”

Averting her eyes as her cheeks fill in olive, she replies,” It’s nothing, really, Ampurra. It was worth the small journey if it helped.” Her embarrassed expression slowly changes to tentative worry and she looks up to you with cautious eyes. Coming closer so she can rest her arms on the wall separating you, she hesitantly asks,” Do you want to talk about last day?”

Your expression is probably priceless, and you flounder like a fish while trying to come up with words. “I- uh… mean, um….”

“It just seemed more personal than a typical daymare off sopor slime,” she follows up with.

You can’t bring yourself to answer in any shape or form except for just sinking back underwater to the nose.

“Uh, sorry for bringing it up then,” she apologizes, biting her lip and looking guilty.

Oh glub, that was not the intended effect. You, and you alone, should be feeling guilty. Your shame burns in your stomach, but you can’t bring yourself to assuage her sudden guilt for fear that you’ll break down. You know that you’re being selfish, but you are too afraid to voice anything.

What if she shuns you once she learns the truth? Or what if she kills you out of anger- is double death a thing? Your stomach is rudely holding an acrobatic tournament, and you fear you might be sick.

Sitting back, she sighs, and says,” I’m going to change-” She gestures at your scarf. She obviously needs a new dressing to keep the punctures healthy. “-and see about making us breakfast.”

You realize that you are in your only clothing right now- for some reason your cloak didn’t make the journey to the afterlife with you, but that’s a different problem. This means you have no clothing at all that is dry. When you graduate to walking status you’re going to have an issue. You place this out of your mind though since it is so inconsequential to your real predicament you’re trying to avoid.

You have to figure out how to deal with this crushing guilt you keep getting hit in the gut with, and how on Alternia you could ever possibly tell Nepeta or keep it secret for ever. Literally ever, you realize, like as in eternity. That’s what this existence is, right? An afterlife that lasts an eternity like an immortal soul or some bullshit?

How could you possibly hide something that big for an eternity? If she found out much later, or from someone else though... You can’t bare to think how alone you’d be again. You just lasted what seemed like months of being alone, aside from the angels. You don’t think you could handle that again.

Sleeping on the pile with her felt so right, even if you did wake up from daymares.

You absently agitate the water to freshen the supply of oxygen.

You’re in deep shit.

You don’t know how to fess up to your mistakes and murders.

You feel like the scum of the scum.

You feel like you should stop existing altogether.

You’re spiralling thoughts are interrupted by her return. She’s holding two plates of steak like you had prepared yesternight. She hands you one and you push yourself up to grab it. “Thanks,” you mumble, still afraid of losing your cool.

The steak is burnt on the outside and pretty much raw on the inside, not to mention over seasoned, but it’s a pretty good first attempt you think. You’ve definitely ate worse with how lousy Feferi was at cooking even after you attempted to teach her.

She’s watching your slow eating, and she frowns. “It’s not furry good, is it?”

Your attention snaps to the present, and you fumble for the words to explain yourself and actions. “What? No! It’s fine. I just… There’s something you should know…” You can already see her stalking out of the room, never forgiving you and leaving you to emotionally rot in this hell that only recently seemed for anything other than misery.

“Yes, Ampurra?”

“I- I killed Kan, and Sol…”

Her mouth falls open and she protests,” They were our friends!”

Shame burning your cheeks, you meekly add,” And Fef…”

“You- you killed all of them? Why?! How could you?”

“Sol incited a duel between us, an’ I was just gettin’ used to my new powers. I laid on the science too heavy, an’ I never really checked for a pulse, but I think I killed him. Then Fef wanted revenge an’ attacked me! I had to defend myself, an’ I- I killed her too,” you explain, your voice beginning to break as your eyes tear up. “Then Kan and I entered a standoff, so I may have destroyed the matriorb to distract her, an’ she came after me with a chainsaw! I had to kill her too. I didn’t want to do any of it. I just wanted my friends to listen to me.”

“You destroyed the matriorb? The only hope of our species?” Nepeta asks with disbelief. Disgusted disbelief.

“She got her just desserts though! She came back as a rainbow drinker and chainsawed me in half.” As if that makes what you did better. Single handedly bringing any chance of your species living on to a halt, killing three of your friends including your ex-moirail, you really are despicable.

Tears spilling over, you cry,” I’m sorry, I never meant for all a it to happen. Really, I-”

“But it did,” she cuts you off, standing up and abandoning her food. “I thought you were a victim like meow, getting your paws dirty, but to protect someone. You were a murderer.”

Your vision of her leaving you in horror and disgust is so close to true. Your stomach roils again. “I’m sorry! Please forgive me! I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t!”

Looking to you and the egress, she stutters out,” I- I need some time, I’m sorry.” She absconds, her tail trailing behind her.

She really did leave you… Just like you knew she would. Why wouldn’t she? Why would anyone waste their time talking to you, especially after they knew what you did? No one liked you before, now they had every right to platonically hate you. Why did you bother starting contact with her at all?! You should have listened to the angels.

You’re a mess.

Sinking all the way under water so your cries won’t echo through the cave, you continue crying, your violet tears diffusing into the water slowly and disappearing like you wish you could.


	5. All's I Gots is TIme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short chapter, but it made the most sense for the division of chapters to end there. Next chapter will just be out sooner :3

You wake up into startled thrashing. This is why you always try to avoid falling asleep fully submerged in small bodies of water. You may run out of oxygen. Ocean, not too likely to run out. Abnormally small aquarium, run out for sure if you don’t actively aerate the water.

If your gills stop being productive and your mouth is above water, you’ll just start breathing with your lungs after a few minutes of pulmonary distress.  Of course when you cry yourself to sleep, you often ignore smart decision making and planning.

Ceasing flailing as you get oxygen circulating again, first by lungs and then by satisfied gills, you notice the lights are off. Your plate of steak that you dropped over the side is also gone, and replaced with a cup of water (amusing when you are submerged in water, but appreciated due to lack of salt) and a small bowl of some kind of bran cereal. Nepeta must have been back at some point after you fell asleep.

You spend nights like this, waking up to find more food, but no Nepeta. Though it’s not the same as seawater, you empty and fill the trap with tap water (it at least seems like well water) several times to avoid gross staleness. You decide to hell with modesty and strip your clothing, leaving it folded in the corner, so it doesn’t get gross clinging to you for eternity.

You learn to haul yourself over and out to use the gaper, and slowly you start to feel your legs again. It starts one night when you land harshly on your knees getting out of the ablution trap, and you actually feel dull pain spike in the joints before fading. Never were you so happy to experience pain before.

You would take all the physical pain right now if Nepeta would just talk to you. You appreciate that she keeps leaving out food for you when you’re incapable of getting it yourself. You won’t starve in the dream bubbles, but hunger does just build and build. You’re glad that you’re passed your empty cave dwelling days filled with starvation and angels.

This doesn’t feel that much better though.

What must be at least a week of boredom and dejection ends with you trying to stand up and slipping, of course cracking your head on the edge of the ablution trap. Life hated you so much, why should death be any different? You black out on impact, only to come to with Nepeta cradling your head.

Blinking away the inky darkness, you look up at her face in weary confusion. Why is she tolerating your presence again? You pull the towel wrapped around you closer, just now realizing you’re curled up nice and warm beside her and she’s running her fingers through your sadly under product lathered hair.

Are you dreaming again? It must be day time, and this must be about to flip to a horrible daymare. You voice as much. “Alright, I’m not fallin’ for it this time, when does the freaky shit start happenin’?”

“I heard you fall,” she says, ignoring your pessimistic assumption. “I had to check up on you, but you seem to be fine now.” She combs your hair a few more times before helping you up and back into the tub. “I found ice in the freezing block of the fridge,” She states.

This strikes you as kind of an obvious statement, but you remember she never had a fridge and freezer before. To add truth to her words, she presses a bag of said ice to your featherbeastegg on your forehead. It feels good, a nice relief from the too warm patch of inflamed skin.

“Thanks,” you dumbly respond, holding the bag in place. Hesitating, you concentrate on her and form words despite how difficult the task right now. “Do you…?”

Her emotions are pinched off and she replies,” I haven’t figured out what I feel yet.” You can see it in her expression though as a shaking sigh leaves her. _You killed our friends like Gamzee killed Equius. There was no reason behind it. You condemned our race to dying out. How could you kill a moirail… even if they were your ex?!_

A silence grows tangible in the air before she breaks it. “Would you like some sopor in the tub? You’ve been having a lot of daymares…”

“Hear all that do you?” You’re a loud dreamer. Your waking is always accompanied by the cries and struggle of the horrorterror.  You don’t wait for her response and say,” Yeah, that would be pretty nice, I think. I could sleep the rest a eternity away. Might as well.”

She doesn’t have anything to say to that and leaves. You wait for her return and realize she’s not coming back until you fall asleep again.

 


	6. Got No Meaning

It’s not surprising when you wake up not caring about the cruel world you’ve found yourself residing. You are also not surprised at being a mouth breather either when your gills had to have decided the purity of the water was too disturbed and switched you to lungs mode.

You gaze down at the pale green liquid, part sopor slime, part water. You feel so comfortably numb. Your recent hardship seems like a distant problem until you start sobering.

The low potency of this concoction can’t last forever. Soon the toxins are pulled out of the water and while the green remains, it no longer dulls your sensation. Your thoughts pick up in dejection and melancholy as the hours slip out from underneath you.

Gritting your teeth angrily, you decide this is not how you you want to waste your time. She’s helped you, and now scorned you, you can take leave and find someone else who will accept you. Even if that means finding more Eridans. Perhaps you will have to learn to love yourself, because no one else seems capable.

Pushing yourself up with all the effort you can pull together in this drug induced state, you succeed in getting to your feet. You drain the polluted water and lean to start the showerhead running. You have to bite your lip to keep from crying out it hurts so much to bend over. In fact, your whole shower is spent limped against the slippery wall trying to pull through without falling.

Shutting the water off, you make way to the mirror and grip the sink tightly. You’re dripping wet, and forming massive puddles, but you can’t be bothered to care. Your stomach is curling and twisting from the pain, but you are going to finish what you started. Glaring up into the mirror, you shakily try to finger comb your hair into compliancy. 

Still drenched, you stagger to your pile of clothes and fumble to get the tight clothing on. Why can’t you wear easier clothing? Glubbin’ skinny jeans. You don’t care that you’re soaking the clothing; you refuse to use her towel the same shade as her blood. Stupid land dwellers and their ugly, grotesque blood. Warm hues are utterly revolting, you decide.

It takes you a second to remember why your scarf is gone, and you lip curls in disgust. Damn her and her selfless actions that cost you your finery. You’re so done with everything, you fail to can anymore. You can’t even. You can’t even odd.

You’re fully dressed, styled, and damn ready to leave.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, you lurch forwards in agony. You don’t know what made you possibly think you could get all the way to the entrance, but screw that catgirl if she thinks you’ll give her the satisfaction of failing. It occurs to you that you aren’t actually aware of any ill will she harbors for you, but that is beside the point.

You stalk passed the familiar cooking block, you careen around the pile you dyed violet, and the egress is finally in sight. You almost cry you’re so happy to be close to done walking. Fuck the sun, you’re camping outside her cave. You’d rather be sunburned than spend another day in that damn ablution trap.

The second the rock changes into shifty ground beneath you, you collapse. Heavy breathing plagues your ribs and you’re pretty close to a glubbin’ bloodpusher seize. You’re free though. You don’t really know what you’re free from, but dammit you’re free.

You dazedly stare up at the stars. Except… There is a definite edge to the sky, and it’s disorienting. Dawn is approaching. You can see the pale orange invading the horizon, and if you were an intelligent troll, you’d take this as a warning and get the fuck inside. 

Instead, you curse the finite heavens under your breath and pass out.

~~  
~~

“What were you thinking,” Nepeta asks as you wake up. You are back in the tub, but now your face, hands, and stomach where your shirt had slid up actively feel like they’re burning.

“Wha- why…” It hurts so much to talk, your skin pulls as your facial muscles move, and you’re hyper-aware of the contours of your face. 

“You fell asleep outside. You’re lucky I came in to check on you and found you missing.”

Discombobulated, you mumble,” Guess, yeah, what…?”

Nepeta sighs and carefully dabs more ointment on your forehead. “If you stop mewling, this will be easier.” She seems a little fed up with your shit. As your head begins to clear, you can’t say you blame her.

You sit through her thoroughly smudging your face with sticky, cold crap. It numbs your face, which is a welcome alternative to the agony it was before. “Can I put this by your gills, will it be okay?”

“Please,” you respond, knowing that your gills deal with a lot worse whenever you swim in the ocean.

You sit through more application, as she rubs down your neck, and then gets your hands. You don’t mean to stare, but your gaze laxedly stays fixed on her as she works. She’s oblivious to it until near the end when she purses her lips as if to say something. Catching your eyes, she averts her gaze and sighs.

“I’m sorry.”

Her eyes sweep up to meet yours, and she guardedly asks,” About what?”

“Everythin’, I guess. Doomin’ our race. Killin’ our friends- mostly in self-defense I would like to point out… Always bein’ rude an’ such a bother to you… I’m a mess, an’ I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t manage to spend a moment on my feet without glubbin’ it up.” You close your eyes and try to imagine not being such a failure. You don’t get very far with that imagery.

She drags sticky fingers through your hair. It is the most comforting action you can think of right now. You’ve always deeply cared about hair, and find it very intimate to play with another’s. Your eyes open to see her slumped over the side of the trap, a pitying expression gripping her face.

Your blood pusher stops for a moment, before working overdrive.

“I’m sorry I left you alone for the last while. I just didn’t know what to think. I still don’t fully, but, I guess, what’s in the past is in the past… Don’t cry, you’ll wash away the ointment.”

You sniffle, trying to keep tears back, while blubbering,” I really should’a gotten to know you before. Before we died. You’re so acceptin’, an’... You’re just…” Do you go for the pun? Do it,“ purrfect in every way.” You really did miss out on a great opportunity by just asking her out, not even bothering to think of her as any more than a cavegirl.

She giggles. Mission accomplished. “I’m fur from purrfect, but thanks for saying so.” She continues combing your hair idly. “Hey, Ampurra?”

You hum for her to continue.

“Do you think you can resist doing something stupid for just a night or two more? You’re so close to being healed up.”

Harsh, though warranted. You snort bitterly. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good. I want to cuddle on the pile again,” She says, raising up to her feet and planting a kiss between the base of your horns.

“Th-that would be nice,” you agree, shocked.

“I’m going to make some more food. I’ve been practicing, and I think I’ve got it down meow!”

You’re pretty sure you could eat just about anything right now, so long as she served it.


	7. It Fades to Grey

“There we are,” she coos, urging you to get your foot over the rim of the tub. Standing up was less than pleasant, but it was at least better than last time on your own. You’ve been clothed in some of her furs that she fashioned into skirts and cloaks. You feel a little ridiculous, but it’s better than being nude, you suppose.

Your sunburn cleared a lot faster than your bisection. You suppose that’s fair. Irritated skin verses mutilated guts and all. You’re practically at full health now.

Your feet step one after the other uncertainly. It hurts to be moving a lot, but she’s supporting your weight. By the time you pass the cooking block, you are straightening up all on your own, with only her grip on your bicep to sturdy you. Your face is drawn up in concentration, and your determination to walk is unparalleled by any goal you’ve ever had. You even want this more than you wanted genocide.

Feeling light headed, you mention something about sitting, and quickly you’re brought to a chair. Thanking her, you recline in the bare wooden chair, and gaze at the wall beside you. “What’s that?” The wall has ash and blood all over it. You remember seeing it earlier, but being too exhausted to give a shit.

“Oh, it’s um…”

You stare and realize the shapes are starting to make sense. Little trolls, all bearing the signs of your friends, grouped into little boxes with love designations dripping over them. Some are circled, some are crossed out. 

Your eyes naturally are drawn to the squares that you occupy, particularly the one that is crossed out in thick ash. One with Vriska is smeared out, just below it another with Fef. “All our friend’s romantic ventures, I see,” you state, trying to look anywhere else than the square that Feferi is hugging you in. You wish the black ‘X’ would cover her happy expression that is so contrasting from her fate.

“Yeah, my shipping wall. So I could keep up to date with who was dating who, you know?” She looks embarrassed, and she says,” You’re the first person to see it other than Equius.”

You notice that your face appears in few boxes, and you wonder if it’s a depiction of how little chance you had with anyone, or her simply not knowing you well enough to know who you got along with. 

You screw up your face at one of the few options. “Me an’ Kan, really?”

“Well, I mean, she always apurrciated your commitment to fashion, especially your cape. And she absolutely hated your accent.” Nepeta shuffles in place, keeping her gaze fixed on her feet. “Maybe I was just being silly, I mean, she usually only courts lady trolls.” She looks up to you biting her lip as if there’s more she’s not sure she should say.

“I do look damn good with lipstick,” you agree with a sage nod. “If you think it could work, maybe I should consider it.” The two of you did kill each other. Possible foundation for black flirting…?

She seems grateful that you took it seriously, and kind of confused that you’re not laughing at her. Perhaps if you would have paid more attention to the tensions of everyone’s- but especially yours- relationships, you’d still have your moirail. You wanted her as a matesprit, but losing her all together was so hard to take. 

“Ampurra, you feline okay?”

“Hmm? Yes, fine,” you quickly blurt out. You must have got distracted thinking about your past. You’ll have eternity to do that. You should spend the here and now to talk with Nep. She’s still staring at you with concern. “Sorry. I just, uh.”

“Do you want to paint over the Fefurry squares?” Her face is a mix of mischievousness and understanding. She knows that you were just stuck thinking about her, and that it makes you sad. You must be the most transparent troll to ever walk or swim.

“Yes, yes I think I do,” you decide. There’s no way you’ll be able to sleep knowing she’s on the wall watching you. You’ll feel more and more guilty knowing she’s there. “You don’t mind…? These are your drawin’s I mean…”

Quickly gathering some ash in a bowl and mixing water in, she reassures you,” I paint over my walls all the time!” She drags the chair across the smooth floor, you find yourself propped in front of the wall of shipping. Maybe that deserves capitalization. The Wall of Shipping. Wall of All the Ships. Shipping Wall… 

You’re just procrastinating. 

Observing the other marks across the rocky wall, you think about how you should apply the ash to keep in the appropriate artistic style. Tentatively dipping a finger in and pressing it to the first Fef square you see- _Feferi <3Aradia_\- you make swift slices in either direction to form the X.

Then over _Feferi <3Kanaya._

_And Feferi <3Tavros._

_Feferi <3Equius_

_Feferi⋄Vriska_

_Feferi⋄Kanaya_

_Feferi⋄Gamzee_

_Feferi⋄Sollux…_

You leave _Feferi <3Sollux_, even circling it. You think she’ll be happy with him, even if he is the biggest douche ever to thpeak. You also hesitate before crossing out _Feferi⋄Aradia_ …

“Do you think they would be happy together?”

“I don’t know. I kind of just threw it in because they would be really cute together.”

“If anyone were to take my old place, I think I’d want it to be Aradia…” The idea makes your skin crawl, but Aradia seems a good fit actually. You relax in your chair, scouring your work. The X’s were a little heavy handed at first, but you got better. Pretty good, you think, for your first time cave painting.

Nepeta’s hands rest on either of your shoulders. You can feel the heat of her body just behind you. “Do you feel better?”

“Yeah, probably.”

The first few days of being out and about are pretty stationary. You can sort of walk, but it’s still a work in progress. Slow, painful progress. 

You braid her hair as you promised, first brushing her hair carefully as not to frizz it. She squirms through the whole process, but she’s estatic when you’re done She can’t look at her reflection enough.

She teaches your the finer art of cave painting, which involves fresh kills for the blood. She promises she’ll teach you hunting in the woods once you’re mobile again.

One night is devoted entirely to teaching her to bake. It goes better than her attempts at cooking.

Death is kind of just going, and you’re finding yourself strangely content. You are full of your aspect that your death will continue like this. This is probably the first time you’ve ever even connected to your aspect. 

It’s nice.

She’s nice. 

You find yourself wanting to be nice now that you’re spending so much time with her.

It would be nice to kiss her… You try to pretend like the thought is a surprise, but who are you kidding? You are completely head over heels for her. You have been since the night you cooked for her, and she commented on your smile. Your smile that has been appearing more and more easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to use the normal heart/diamonds characters composed with the arrows as done in the webcomic. Because of coding, the diamond could not be achieved though, so I replaced it with ⋄. Oh well, not too much is lost.


	8. This I Feel as the Dawn

“C’mon. FLARPin’ is way more excitin’.”

“No way, uh-uh,” she firmly stands her ground. “FLARPing is dangerous. My meowrail said so, and I’m not going to do it.”

Resting your chin on your hand, you complain,” But dressin’ up is, like, half a’ the fun.” And typing is _boring_.

Nepeta looks to the ceiling as she considers this. Catching her fist in her hand, she perks up and says,” I got it!” You wait for her to explain her epiphany before judging her idea, which is a lot more than you offer most people. “Why don’t we just roleplay like normal, and act out favorite scenes… but without the fatal part? You know. Fake battles, if we even battle.”

“If we battle?” you ask incredulously.

“I hunt fantastic fauna in the real world… I’ve always found it kind of boring in role playing to describe it. I mean, your character’s have to eat, so they have to kill, but it’s not that exciting.”

True, you suppose. You’re whole point of FLARPing was always killing and getting closer to your blacklove interest. You didn’t really kill outside of the game.

“And you don’t have to feed anyone’s lusii anymore,” she points out.

Why is she making such great points?

“ _And_ we don’t have any other players, so we can’t effectively do the cloudy thing, right?”

Oh yeah. That seems like an important detail. You need at least two teams, so one member can cloud the other team each.

“So if we aren’t just in it for the killing, what do you propose we do?” you ask, still a little skeptical.

“We could go adventuring! As fantastic beasts! Or, we could create a cruel government that needs to be taken down by renegades! Or-”

“Why would you want to take down the government,” you interrupt. It just doesn’t make sense to your privileged ass, until you try and imagine what life might have been like in her shoes. You feel bad for shutting down her idea, it’s probably actually a fairly common dream or genre among lowbloods. You never took the time to read their literature. You had the classic arts to read, and for most of Alternian history, the only trolls privileged enough to get their works published were the nobility such as yourself.

“I mean, with plain renegades,” you attempt to add on smoothly, wondering if you can still make it through this conversation without being a complete asshole. Unlikely, but you might as well try. “We could, um, take it down with the fantastic beasts. Maybe.” Ugh, your uncertainty and hesitation is going to have you sounding like Tavros if you keep it up.

“Or fantastic, _magical_ renegades,” she suggests.

“Renegades who rely heavily on _science_ ,” you amend, a little pride slipping through.

She rolls her eyes, but laughs and agrees,” Scientific renegades.”

In the end, you do not roleplay about renegades- magic, scientific, or beastly. You are not fantastic beasts adventuring without purpose aside from their awesome fright.

You and your trusty rogue (apparently you can trust people who steal for a living) friend have been destined on a quest to fetch a ruby that will bring peace to trollkind that is currently being held in a dungeon of sorts filled to the gnashers with booby traps. You were going to slip right into being a wizard, a roll you feel quite comfortable with, but as you tried to voice your character, you couldn’t imagine using science without the hairs rising on the back of your neck.

Instead, you decide to be knight. You’ve never really been on this side of the fighter roll. With Vriska, you often played the more vicious, hardened criminal. With other FLARPers, which you went through like flies, you often were more of a cross class science fueled fighter. Still a hardened criminal for the most part, now that you think about it. It was a lot easier to justify killing mass amounts of people when you were drowned in bad karma.

As a sort of compromise between the skill based FLARPing, and the purely storytelling aspect of her RPing, the two of you adopt a style of roleplaying from some books she had laying around.

“How come you get to start with masterwork daggers, plural, an’ I only get a lousy broadsword?” you complain as you fill in the rest of your character’s possessions.

“You wasted all your money on armor,” she unsympathetically reminds you.

“Easy for you to say,” you mutter,” I can’t flip my way out a’ danger.”

Your first session is fun, with you both taking turns coming up with traps and enemies your characters might encounter. The league of the undead you proposed was perhaps a little too harcore for your levels, you barely struck them all down, but live and learn. You’re just trained to severely test the limits of whomever you’re clouding.

Finding a good place to close the session, you and Nepeta head to the kitchen. So long as you lean against her or the wall your walking is getting a lot better. Smoother, at least, and less painful. The stitches still pull, but pain doesn’t radiate up your torso pillar anymore.

You’re teaching her how to make a favorite curry of yours today. Since you introduced the cooking block, you’re pretty sure it’s become her favorite place. She was amazed at the prospect of the leftover bits of meat being able to taste just as good as the quality cuts.

You make a comment about how good some fish would be to break up all the red meat, and she enthusiastically suggests going fishing. Being able to sit at a table now is nice. You take the time to set it nice, even having her find some candles. You lay out the proper napkins and silverware, set a nice ornament in the middle.

Nepeta is looking over your shoulder curiously. You can feel the question radiate from her “ _Why are you working so hard to make the table pretty? We have food, who cares what the table looks like?”_

You don’t bother to explain, you’re not sure she’d get it. Being as highblooded as yourself, you were taught to eat as regally as you do anything else. While you dropped a lot of your other habits, eating elegantly made you feel a lot less pathetic as you ate alone everyday.

Your meal goes lovely with the conversation, the two of you discussing ways to better your new role playing format. This has got to be pretty close to the best you could have ever imagined your life- er, death going. You must have rolled a twenty on your critical failure save.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but glad to be updating again. Not saying that I have a tendency to procrastinate and make the last month of school living hell for myself, but evidence over the last... ever, sure does point to that.
> 
> Since I am a regular role player of a few formats, I'll probably blend some rules, but their role playing will probably most strongly resemble Dungeons and Dragons. I do play with a group who uses a lot of terminology, both personalized to our group and general, so if I ever describe an instance of role playing and you don't get it, please comment so I can elaborate and make it more clear :)


End file.
